


A Different View

by InhoePublishing



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 17:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7232068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InhoePublishing/pseuds/InhoePublishing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk's mother comes to visit him while he's in a coma after Into Darkness.</p><p>“It’s okay to go in,” McCoy said gently.<br/>She turned her head toward him. For an instant, he saw the raw, shattered expression he’d seen on too many mothers’ faces as they waited outside of surgery, waited for someone to tell them everything was going to be all right, that their child wasn’t going to die today. Then it was gone, replaced with a practiced and familiar stoic mask that reminded him of Jim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different View

It was unusually quiet at Starfleet Medical Center. Thanks to Khan’s kamikaze plunge into Starfleet Headquarters, cutting a swath through San Francisco, the hospital had been filled to capacity for the past week. The halls had been bustling with activity as nurses and doctors were pressed for attention, moving from one room to the next. Between the hospital staff and anxious family members, there had barely been space to move or a moment to think. Now, for the first time, the medical staff was finally getting a welcomed reprieve.

“It’s too quiet,” Nia said as she passed a PADD across the circulation desk. “It makes me nervous.”

“Enjoy it while we can,” Dr. Hani said, taking the PADD. “It can all go south in a minute. Right, Leonard?”

“Hmm?” McCoy stood just in front of the circulation desk, watching the woman who stood just outside the doorway of Jim’s room. McCoy had just gotten back from a much-needed break to find the woman rooted there, unmoving. He turned to Hani. “Who’s that woman?”

Hani looked up from the PADD he held and followed McCoy’s gaze down the corridor. “No idea. Another piece of brass wanting to catch a glimpse of the wounded hero. Vultures.”  
No. She was only a commander. Not high enough in the ranks to warrant special requests. McCoy had been fighting off HQ’s requests for visits for a week, appeasing them by providing daily updates and personal interviews, anything to keep them away from Jim who was still too unstable to receive official visits.

Nia craned her neck to see over McCoy’s shoulder. “That’s Commander Kirk. His mother.”

McCoy pinned Nia with a hard stare. “His mother?”

“He has one, you know.”

Yeah, he knew, but he’d never seen. He’d spent three years at the Academy with Jim and another eighteen months on Enterprise, and he’d never seen the woman. Not once. Jim rarely spoke of her, and when he did, he was usually drunk and McCoy could only glean bits of the resentment he felt toward his only remaining parent. Any attempt on McCoy’s part to discover more had been met with cold silence or a bitter retort. He had learned not to ask.

McCoy turned his gaze back to the woman. “How long has she been there?”

“About ten minutes,” Nia said.

Just standing there in full military stance, looking in as if she had no intention of moving. How in hell did she get here? He’d been told she was halfway across the Galaxy. He knew someone at HQ had to have informed her of her son’s condition. Then again, what happened with Khan and Earth wasn’t exactly a well-kept secret. Word had to have spread like wildfire on Starfleet’s infamous grapevine. Maybe she was here of her own volition. 

But why just stand there? Was her relationship with Jim so damaged that she couldn’t bring herself to sit with her injured son? She wore a flight suit, which meant she’d hitched a ride on alternate transport. She’d left her ship to be here. For a moment, it looked as if she was going to take a step into the room. Her body swayed forward, then settled back and stilled.

For Christ’s sake. He walked toward her, making an effort to push his emotions aside. She was a family member of a hurt crewman; she had every right to be here. He stopped a few steps from her. He couldn’t see her full face, only her profile, but from what little he saw he could see that she was a beautiful woman. Her blond hair was woven into a complex braid, revealing a smooth, pale complexion except for the tiny creases at the corners of her eyes. She smiled a lot and easily, he knew, although at the moment there was nothing joyful about her.

“It’s okay to go in,” he said gently.

She turned her head toward him. For an instant, he saw the raw, shattered expression he’d seen on too many mothers’ faces as they waited outside of surgery, waited for someone to tell them everything was going to be all right, that their child wasn’t going to die today. Then it was gone, replaced with a practiced and familiar stoic mask that reminded him of Jim.

“You are?” Her voice was surprisingly soft, but firm.

“McCoy. Dr. Leonard McCoy. I’m Jim’s CMO.”

His words didn’t alter her expression. There was no dawning recognition that would soften the mask and inspire a short ‘Oh, you’re Leonard’ before she reached out to shake his hand. He half expected her to say ‘Jim has told me so much about you.’

But she said nothing and turned back to stare into the room.

With a sigh, he stepped around her and entered Jim’s room. Despite their best efforts, Jim was still resisting Khan’s blood, and they had not yet found the right anti-rejection serum that would not provoke an allergic reaction. Jim’s fever was high, his respirations rapid and shallow. Sometimes he would move restlessly with the fever, but at the moment, he lay still as death, his pale lips softly parted.

McCoy checked the IV lines and regulator, confirming the dosage of the drips. Jim’s condition was unpredictable, and in the past week the young man’s vitals had fluctuated so drastically and frequently that McCoy had learned to distrust any stability that Jim might have found. They’d had to adjust his meds several times a day to keep his stats above the critical line.

McCoy grabbed the chart at the end of Jim’s bed and reread the recent entries, looking for anything that would indicate a change one way or the other. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jim’s mother move, slowly stepping over the threshold as if she were entering enemy territory. He’d seen it before in his years as a trauma surgeon, the way family members cautiously approached a bed where their loved one lay. Whatever the Commander had been told, nothing prepares a mother to see her son like this. She came to stand at the side of his bed, staring down at the unmoving figure.

McCoy continued to make his notes on the PADD, requesting another blood draw from the lab. If the current stability held, they may have found the right meds combination to get   
Jim to turn the corner. If this serum didn’t work, they were running out of options.

“He’s so still,” she said softly.

He looked at her, seeing a small frown mar her face. “It’s to be expected. His body’s exhausted.”

She looked at McCoy from across the bed. For a moment, he thought she was going to challenge him. There was something in her eyes, the way she stuck out her jaw that reminded him of Jim when he got his ire up. But then in an instant it was gone, and she lowered her gaze to her son. She ran her tongue across her lips and started to reach out toward Jim, only to abandon the effort.

“You can touch him,” McCoy reassured her, then silently cursed the words. He shouldn’t get involved. Jim wouldn’t like this. 

She held still for a long moment, staring at Jim’s unconscious figure, and he thought that maybe she would just walk out again. Instead, she put her hand on Jim’s forehead. She lingered there for a long moment before soothing his hair. “He’s hot.”

“He has a pretty high fever.” He watched her, wondering what she was thinking, how Jim would feel about her being here. Jim hated anyone to see him vulnerable and McCoy was certain, given his friend’s distance with his mother, that he would especially hate her seeing him this way.

“When he was a baby he got a high fever like this,” she said quietly, not taking her eyes off Jim. “I was home on leave and George woke me up all upset, thought Jim was dying. Jim was barely two, but they were…inseparable. Jim followed George everywhere.”

The PADD forgotten, McCoy studied her, seeing her fingers caress the strands of Jim’s short hair. Her eyes were unfocused as if she were lost in the memory.  
“Turns out he was allergic to blueberries. I sat by his bed in the hospital all night listening to him struggle to breathe while the doctors tried to stabilize him. He was so small.” She paused. “He still seems small.”

Suddenly, she sank into the chair by the bed as if her legs wouldn’t hold her weight any longer.

McCoy put down the PADD and reached for her. “Commander?”

“He wasn’t supposed to be in Starfleet.” Her voice was frail and thin. “He promised.”

A soft alarm chimed, drawing McCoy’s attention to the monitor. A drop in blood-pressure. He quickly adjusted the IV regulator to increase the drip then silenced the alarm. Through it all she hadn’t moved, hadn’t taken her eyes from Jim. There was something in her posture that told McCoy that she’d given up, that she’d expected the alarms and a final good-bye, that she’d been expecting it most of her life.

“He’s holding his own,” McCoy said by way of giving her hope, because the way she looked at Jim made his blood run cold. And then, because he couldn’t stand the silence anymore, he said, “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water?”

She didn’t respond, but moved her hand from Jim’s hair to trail down his bare arm and rest on his hand, not quite holding it. “He’s so much like his father.”  
McCoy could hear the pain and regret in her voice. He hadn’t thought of it before, what it must be like to look at a face that reminded you of your dead husband, to know that the day that marked your son’s birth was the day that marked your husband’s death. Did she even celebrate Jim’s birthday? He knew Jim didn’t, and that had to come from somewhere. For a moment he thought about his birthdays as a child, filled with cake and ice cream and presents and well-wishers, a day when his mom made certain he felt special. Had Jim ever gotten a cake? Was it a practice that slowly faded as it became too painful, or had it never even begun?

He looked at Jim’s peaceful face, feeling an unexpected swell of despair and an almost paternal need to comfort and protect. Suddenly all those nights Jim would get drunk and start a fight made sense. That half-grin plastered on his bruised and bloody face as he refused painkillers and told McCoy not to worry, it was all in fun. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

The nurse entered and took a blood draw, moving silently past McCoy. “Dr. Boyce is waiting for you in his office.”

He nodded. Another meeting with nothing to say. “Have the lab rush the test.”

“Yes, Doctor,” she said and left.

He looked at the commander, oddly reluctant to leave her alone with Jim. Spock’s meeting must have gone long. He had expected the Vulcan more than an hour ago. He looked around the room, ill at ease.

Jesus, it’s her son, he chided himself. She was hardly a threat and Jim wasn’t going to wake anytime soon. There was time later to ease her into this, to slow her down for Jim’s sake. McCoy knew Jim wouldn’t want to wake up and have to deal with his mother. All this was contingent on Jim waking up. There was nothing on the bio display that made McCoy feel overly optimistic, but he couldn’t contemplate Jim dying either. He wouldn’t allow his mind to go there. Jim was a self-sacrificing fool, but he didn’t give up. Ever. He wanted to tell the commander that, remind her that Jim may be like his father, but he wasn’t going to suffer the same fate. McCoy wouldn’t allow it. But he said nothing.

His comm beeped softly. He glanced down to see that Boyce was calling. He needed to go. Still, he hesitated. He knew nothing of this woman other than her rank and the well-publicized story of Jim’s birth. Maybe she hadn’t been a good mother. Maybe Jim was too much for her. That didn’t mean she didn’t love him. Did she even really know her son?  
The comm beeped again. He pressed the auto-reply button to let Boyce know he was on his way. He looked one more time at the woman. He’d talk to her when he got back. Maybe take her for coffee and share some stories about Jim and the Academy, what a natural commanding officer he was and how much his crew loved him. Maybe she just needed to know her son better, know the man he’d become. Maybe she’d stay longer, visit more often.

With a sigh, he left the room.

When he returned an hour and a half later, she was gone. He’d been told by a nurse that she’d taken a transport off Earth. Jim lay in the same position as when he’d left, still pale and feverish. McCoy looked around the room, hoping to find a note or vid-clip. There was nothing.

He sat down heavily on the chair by the bed and waited.

THE END


End file.
